inbox ▣ saltburnt

[metabolizes]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

USERNAME:
velocity

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Comments

✉️ text — un: homelander.

[breeding]

hey, so, theoretically, if i wanted to stage a death, would you be able/willing to help with that?

[metabolizes]

( squints......... )

theoretically? sure
im getting the sense this isnt theoretical tho
who are you trying to fake kill and why

text — un: aemond_

[provoke]

You.

[ he'll remember the name in a moment, it's been a long month. ]

You would consider yourself a learned man, yes?

[metabolizes]

( listen, if aemond's name wasn't his username wally probably wouldn't remember his name either so — )

yeah sure why

un: koby

[kobes]

The library's closed. I'm not sure if you've seen, yet.

[metabolizes]

yeah ive been trying not to get punched in the face by the jack-in-the-box it gave me as a sort of belated bday gift
was gonna try to return it or smth
but lo and behold

text, un: red

[reneger]

what's a guy got to do to get a speedster's attention around here?
blow something up?

[metabolizes]

new phone who dis

( hi, jay. )







actually
please dont blow anything up without scientific supervision thx

less an inbox prompt, more the [irradiation of wally's mortal mind]

[redsoil]

[ It's been a while since the conclusion of the Werewolf game, and the dissolution of the eclectic ( and dangerous! ) green team. But, some things persist, and even as time passes, there is unfinished business. An apple thrown into the air awaiting gravity to snatch it back to the surface, the inevitable shift of seasons, the steady waltz-march towards a mortal's end. The absolute blinding pressure that will drop into Wally's mind one cold morning, like the sun has decided to go supernova and sear the flesh from his bones.

It's the sudden proximity of a life he's probably never quite led: sore hands tightening around the haft of a spear while his heart thunders agonizingly in his chest, battering hot and hard in his throat that builds a fearful ache into his jaw. The gasping for air that surrounds him, sunburnt skin and jingling reins as his commanders call for a rally; there's blood on the ground around him, the clatter of metal weapons. The cry of an enemy as they descend upon his staggered, shocked form — death, death, death. Death, that never comes.

It's the foreign feeling of relief-elation-awe-mindless-terror, as a massive fist made of the sands of his beloved homeland burst from the ground and carries away the descending enemy, crushing their body into meat and a weak shower of blood. The haunting cry of a hundred soldiers catching their second wind, as the sands breathe below their feet, like an animal with lungs expanding and muscles bunching as it rises and comes to life. The harsh sun blotted out by the shadow of a rising, monstrous, eldritch figure that towers above him — their war god, their desert god. Masked and unknowable, mouth held in silent severity as he moves the desert itself like a storm, waves of soft earth rising in waves to tip and tumble his enemies until their bodies are drowned, lost, crushed below the land. Within the god's body.

The horror-love one feels, knowing that their god is with them. That it could be him, plunged so deep within his god's body — flesh, bones and blood becoming one with a being that walked on two legs as he did, yet was also the sands he could gather in his palms and see slip away through his fingers. Fleeting, free. The vision of divinity through the eyes of a normal mortal man: beautiful, yet madness-generating. It crushes into Wally's mind... and abates within moments.

A text message follows, from @/SET. ]

I did not forget. Let me know if you want another!

this is fine.gif

[metabolizes]

( he hadn't forgotten, exactly, the brash and probably irresponsible wager he'd made with set — but he was sort of hoping set had forgotten. wally certainly wasn't going to be the first to bring it up again. so when it happens, it happens without warning — and it takes a long, long moment before wally is coherent enough to respond. when nabu had taken over his mind, it had been ... well, uncomfortable, the thrumming force of a presence trapped inside a body much too small and much too resistant, like a pervasive migraine piercing through his skull, behind his eyes. only when the helmet had come off had the pain receded.

this — he'd estimate it's about ten times worse than that, though also about ten times shorter than his time sharing a body with doctor fate. small mercies, maybe. )

another what

( as if he's actually going to acknowledge any of that. he is, in fact, rationalizing it to himself as they speak — a psychotic break, an aftereffect of vibrating through walls one too many times, not a fucking vision — even though he can still feel the prickling heat on his skin, the arid desert wind, the wet spray of blood streaking down his face. even though he stumbles down the hall, as if the floor beneath his feet is caving in, shifting, sinking under his weight upon it. even though his heart is hammering against his ribs at a speed normal men would die from and he feels like his chest might crack open like a walnut, like his blood is boiling with an unfathomable awe and terror — like he might be suddenly and violently sick, dread settling heavy in his gut when his mouth goes dry and his throat itches and he thinks whatever comes up will be only sand. )

text — un: aemond_ ( seventh of december )

[provoke]

Wally. I have a request to ask of you, if you will hear it.

[metabolizes]

sure whats up man

🎁 delivery (dated 12/26).

[volkarin]

[ Left by Wally's door after Christmas, on account of only having received Wally's gift for him on Christmas: A box wrapped in iridescent purple wrapping paper (somewhat more splashy than Emmrich's usual style, but the spirit of the season seems to demand it), decorated with a length of silver ribbon and a little sprig of baby's breath. Its contents, cushioned by sheets of white tissue paper, are as follows:

— A leather-bound notebook with WALLY WEST embossed in gold on the front.

— A black pencil with a protective cap.

— A little plush bird, dressed for the season.

There's also an accompanying letter, which reads: ]

Dear Wally,

Allow me to express my astonishment and sincere gratitude at having been chosen to be your match in this holiday gift exchange. Your generosity of spirit is quite touching, given the fact that we have yet to meet or speak to each other beyond the bounds of these messages, and your gifts quite astute — I wear the ring as I write this letter to you, now, and the case has taken a place of pride upon my mantlepiece. (As for its inscription, I have come to believe it translates roughly to: PRAY TO GOD FOR THE SOUL OF GABRIELA ARCANE. Some of the letters that have been smudged out suggest some call to devotion, though I cannot quite make out how it fits grammatically into the inscription.

Such matters aside, I confess I was also quite taken by your thoughtfulness as to the nature of death within what may traditionally be perceived as celebrations of life. You're quite right — the two walk hand in hand, there is no presence without absence. We appreciate what we have knowing that we could just as easily have not.

Happy holidays, my dear fellow, and I hope to earn your friendship in the new year.

Yours,
— Emmrich Volkarin

🎁 delivery (dated 12/24).

[breeding]

[ Some gifts, Homelander drops off personally; others, he lets the staff take care of. Wally's, he delivers by hand, the activity at least allowing for a temporary distraction from the sense of aimlessness he's felt for most of the month.

A box, wrapped in shiny red paper and a blue ribbon, and a card are left outside Wally's room. Inside the box:

— A pair of red sneakers in Wally's size.

And on the card: ]

Hey, Wally.

Look, you and I both know these shoes won't stand up to how fast you can run, so we'll say they're just for leisure. Also, no, I didn't secretly check your shoe size — the vendor just seemed to know. Kinda creepy, but it worked out for me, so who am I to complain?

Those other guys from your world, the ones you said are faster? Fuck 'em.

Merry Christmas,
Your friendly neighborhood Homelander

🎁 delivery, 12/24

[kobes]

[The gift comes wrapped meticulously in paper that, while not strictly holiday-themed is nevertheless very appropriate, considering who it’s from. The gift is inside, nestled in pale blue tissue paper:

An assortment of candied fruit, nuts and chocolates from the faire, for those of his friends who actually eat. For those who don’t, this portion of the gift is replaced with a simple calendar.

A jar of tea courtesy of Sol & Scroll, because everyone needs more relaxing sleep around here.

For Wally, a lighthouse charm, and an exhaustively-written, as-scientific-as-he-can-make-it description of how Haki works.

The note, on thick, cream-colored card stock, is in a somewhat wobbly, but earnest hand:]

Wally -

You called it a lightning rod, which makes sense, but the way you described it made me think of a lighthouse. Bringing ships in from the seas, guiding them safely back to harbor, lighting the darkest nights.

That's what you are. What you've been. I know it can't be easy here, being alone, but you still found the time to comfort me, instead of drowning in your grief. I don't have enough words to tell you how thankful I am, for that.

Merry Christmas. Sorry I couldn't find those chicken...things.
-Koby

✉️ text — un: ev.

[volkarin]

My dear Wally, I was hoping to thank you in person for your tremendously thoughtful gifts this past holiday season. Could I perhaps interest you in a spot of tea this afternoon?

[metabolizes]

emvee!
can i call you emvee
i'm not gonna lie i'm not really a tea guy
but if there are crumpets involved
i will eat like 40 of them

@t.laughlin

[holyposition]

Thank you for the mixtape. It was really thoughtful.

I liked a good amount of it. Do you want my honest feedback?

[metabolizes]

dude of course
lay it on me man

@t.laughlin

[holyposition]

I thought you were joking about not getting drunk

I shoukd have called you but I sampled everything myself

sorry I wasn't paying enough attention can you repeat that feedback

[metabolizes]

dude
everything???
are you
okay??

i think my feedback is the least of your worries rn
but the fruity ones were the best

✉️ text — un: homelander.

[breeding]

[ Sent shortly before he and Alicent take to the network: ]

assuming you're not running at the same speed you usually are, go to the library. there's some shit there from my neck of the woods, called temp v.
it'll put some pep back into your step. can't guarantee it'll make you fast again, but it'll make you something.

don't take more than one at a time, and wait until it wears off to inject it again.
and don't take more than three or four shots total if you can help it.

[metabolizes]

( he is, in fact, not running at his usual speed and, ironically, the world suddenly feels too fast. )

whoaaa hold on hold on like
some kind of super serum?
is this shit even tested?

( he does not trust any kind of temporary superpower quick fix, not after what lex luthor's shield patches did to conner. seems like this temp v probably isn't any different (or it's worse) if homelander is warning him about a dosage limit. )

text; @kpyr7.8

[suturing]

you're helping me at the clinic for a week.

[ if there's a saying about holding on to debts, eunhyuk doesn't want to hear it. ]

[metabolizes]

*princess bride westley voice* as you wish

text

[greetingsmortals]

[ With absolutely no warning, thanks to Eunhyuk: ]

ATTENTION!

This Is The Curse Of Bloody Mary! You Must Forward This Message To Ten People, Or She Will Come And Find You And Kill You! She Knows Where You Live. She Will Hang Your Corpse For Everyone To See And Laugh At You. She Will Find You!

THIS IS NOT A JOKE!!!!!!!!!!!

[metabolizes]

blocked and reported

text; un: coan_tean

[preborns]

🟩🤽‍♀️🏠

[...no, that's all you get.]

[metabolizes]

( uh. green ... pool house ... ??? )

ok look if you want me to be your pool boy that can definitely be arranged
but first im gonna need like
actual words